The general kind.

The same warm, meaningless, obligatory clapping that greets a stranger — the sound a crowd makes for a name that belongs to no one in the stands.

No storm broke out for me.

No one screamed my name.

I stepped down off the stairs on the far side, clutching the folder against my chest like something that might blow away, and I walked out toward the grassy field, alone, a graduate with a diploma and no one in the world to hand it to.

Chapter 9 — Guess Who Finally Made It